


resolved

by orphan_account



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Drugs, Eventual Porn, High School, M/M, debate, debate au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:20:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harvey's been the national debate champ for two years, but with his partner off at harvard, he's left stranded and alone in a room of freshmen who've never stepped in front of a judge. mike ross stumbles into a new hobby, and something to give his heart and soul (and it probably isn't debate).</p><p>a high school au with added debate au</p>
            </blockquote>





	resolved

**Author's Note:**

> this is definitely going to be multichapter--i've only written the next 3 chapters, which i'll probably post once i've got more work done on the rest. i'm anticipating probably around 15-20k words in the end and also it will be explicit at that point. there are some references in this chapter to drugs (which ok if you have an issue with take it up with canon--harvey's in high school and tbh high school harvey would have done recreational drugs and will in this fic) and also a slight suicide-y joke but it is actually a thing people say!
> 
> if anyone gets confused re: debate slang--there isn't really any in this chapter--feel free to ask me. i'm a debater and i probably won't notice if it slips in. i'll put in an explanation in-universe of the type of debate mike and harvey do, but it's public forum debate.
> 
> but this isn't all about debate--you also get things like 1) parties and 2) mike is in harvey's ap calc bc class and 3) awkward teen boy fumbling so there's something for everyone
> 
> you can find me @ aedicula.tumblr.com if you have any questions re: debate or updating!

Graduation that year is held on the football field, and people are _angry_. Harvey gets to the field early and finds a seat on the edge of a bleacher. He can hear disgruntled parents complaining about “paying $40,000 for an education we could get at a _public school_ ,” derision thick in their voices.

Harvey’s wearing his best suit, which still isn’t that great of a suit. It’s June, and it’s hot, especially under the heavy-duty lights on the field, turned to full power even at 6:30.

By seven o’clock, the bleachers are halfway full, and that’s probably as big a crowd as will come. The school’s graduating class is only 100, making the crime of football field versus $10,000 hotel ballroom even more heinous to the pearls-and-sweater-sets. The band launches into a weak rendition of Pomp and Circumstance, only missing five or six beats, as the graduating seniors file in.

There’s an empty seat where Jessica breaks off from the line and sits in her chair on the stage.

The dean makes a quick speech, full of the same bullshit these speeches always are, and introduces the valedictorian and salutatorian, both of whom have speaking voices that make Harvey cringe. They both manage to slot “matriculate” into the first thirty seconds of their respective speeches, which means a point for Harvey’s “Jessica’s Graduation” bingo (the first matriculate was the free space).

Then Jessica is introduced, and Harvey cups his hands as he claps loudly.

“Hello. In case you don’t already know me—“ There’s a laugh from the crowd of students and most of the parents—they know her. “I’m Jessica Pearson, and I’m the student body president. I’m here to deliver some harsh truths before we all go our separate ways.”

At the end of Jessica’s speech, there is a standing ovation, and Harvey expected nothing less.

Luckily, the reading of the names doesn’t take too long—someone trips, which means a blackout on Graduation Bingo—and soon Harvey’s down on the field with Jessica. “Nice speech,” he says. “Could’ve mentioned me a bit more.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Jessica asks, smiling.

He reaches over to her myriad honor cords. “Don’t forget to pack these. You know what they say: being successful in high school is useless, but at least you can use your honor cords to hang yourself if the Ivy League doesn't pan out.”

 “No one says that.”

“Wait until first semester finals.”

“Harvey, it’s okay to just say you’re going to miss me.”

 “You’re—what?—three hours away? Worst case scenario, I’ll see you in February at the Harvard tournament.”

“And I guess I’ll see your new partner there as well?” Jessica teases. She knows as well as him that they’ve been debate partners for three years and Harvey has no idea how much of their national titles were really attributable to him and not Jessica.

“I’ll find one, Jessica.”

  “Will you? Because last time I checked, no one on our team liked you.”

“Gee, thanks, _mom!_ I’m captain! I have to make the tough decisions, and plus, they just hate me because I _win_.”

“ _We_ won. All bets are off now.”

“Well, congrats on getting this useless piece of paper,” Harvey says, and he means a lot more than that. He means _thank you_ and _you’re the big sister I never had_ and _you’ve done so much that I could never have done_ and _I’m proud of you_ and even a little bit of _fuck you for leaving me here, you’re my only real friend._

“Thanks, Harvey,” Jessica replies, mostly to the unsaid things, before actually _hugging_ him.

“And don’t get too comfortable with your new college debate partner. I’ll be there next year,” Harvey warns.

“What if I like my new partner better?” Jessica says.

“Well, what if I like _my_ new partner better?”

“Good one,” Jessica says sardonically. “With wit like that, you’ll be able to handpick a freshman—literally a fourteen year old—who hasn’t already been claimed by someone else.”

“I’m going to get the best damn fourteen year old you can imagine. Then I’m gonna destroy ‘em and recreate ‘em in my image.”

 

The summer passes quickly. Harvey and Jessica have internships with a local firm, but only Jessica is getting paid. The partners at the firm soon realize both of them are better prepared than most paralegals, and so this means a summer of sloughing through files and long nights in the legal library, all for no pay, at least for Harvey. (Jessica is, unsurprisingly, not really concerned about Harvey’s complaints that he’s “wasting his time.”)

Harvey registers for classes and knows he’ll graduate with the grades he needs in the classes he needs to get into Harvard.

The school year starts with the same general grumbling. Harvey goes to classes, pretends to listen, and gets perfect grades. His teachers love him because he never needs to ask the hard questions, and he always brings them baked goods for Christmas (“the holidays”), their birthdays, and the end of the school year. In return, they sign off on his ticket to Harvard and let him use school printers to make debate fliers.

This year, they’re simple.

**Forensics**

**Novice-only interest meeting**

**3 pm**

**room 320**

At exactly 3:07, Harvey walks into Mr. Zane’s classroom. He watches as the freshmen turn around nervously to see which of their number would dare to be late to one of _Harvey Specter’s_ debate meetings, and then watches as they all attempt to avert their eyes as quickly as possible. Harvey has a reputation here, and all the freshmen know it: he destroys people.

They’re terrified. And tiny.

Harvey doesn’t make eye contact either, just walks up to the board and writes in thick black letters: _CKHS Forensics._ He divides the board into two halves and writes “ _bullshit “acting””_ on one side and _“real debate”_ on the other. Once he’s done, he turns sharply on his heel and surveys the kids.

There are maybe thirty new kids in the room, which isn’t promising, but in a class of 100, it’s better than could be expected. Still, after today there will be maybe fifteen, by the first tournament, less than seven.

“I’m Harvey Specter. I’m the captain of this team and the Public Forum National Debate Champion for the past two years. I don’t fuck around. If you want to do this, at minimum you’ll be giving up most of your spare weekends. If you want to win, you’ll have to give your heart and soul to me, to your partner, to the people in this room, to your research. And let it be said: we _win_.

Now, I need a new debate partner. Consider this an audition: if you do not get the part, you’ll have to partner with one of these other kids, and I don’t think any of you want that. I need someone who will win, or at least shut up and let me win. Come up with a case to argue, and give me your best argument. You’ve got five minutes to prep, then up to 6 minutes to give the speech. I’ll cut you off if you’re terrible. If you aren’t terrible, I will cross-examine you, and then we can just have some free-form argument . I’m just getting a feel for skill levels here. If you pass, we’ll go over the technical stuff. I don’t care if you came here to do children’s lit, you’re all giving me an argument.”

The kids fumble for paper and pencils and start scribbling furiously.

A kid named Kyle is about halfway into a speech on income disparity that Harvey should have put to sleep about half a speech ago when a kid runs in, face flushed, backpack hanging loose and open at his side, pulling a bike beside him.

“You’re late,” Harvey says, affecting his coldest tone.

“Oh, I’m not—what is this? Is this detention? I’m just hiding from campus security. Wasn’t “walking my wheels” inside.”

“Well, this isn’t your own personal haven to hide from the law, Mr—“

“Mike. Mike Ross,” the kid says, distracted.

“This is debate. And this seems like a pretty shitty way to start off your freshman year.”

“Yeah, that I’m not arguing.”

“Well, if you want to stay hidden here, I need a speech. Come up with a resolution and argue it. You’re up after—“ Harvey gestures at a blond kid vaguely. “If I cut you off, you’re out. And I’m calling campus security.”

Mike reaches into his backpack to grab a notebook, but what falls out is a not-small baggie full of weed. Mike stares at it. Harvey stares at it. The freshmen stare at Mike and Harvey with thinly-disguised fear. Harvey steps on the baggie as Mike lunges for it.

“An argument, Mr. Ross. Now you’re fighting for your life.”

“Okay,” Mike says, scrunching his face up before opening his eyes wide. “Nationals ’06, resolution stated that the United States government should ratify the Kyoto Protocol. Just going off the top of my head, I’m going to say negative? The Kyoto Protocol restricts emissions—the US needs to accept our place as a country that is not based on heavy industry anymore, but the conclusive evidence that a Kyoto protocol ratified by only a few major countries would have an impact on the scale and severity of global warning had the flawed methodology that forgot to take the “wrecking ball” theory of climate change into account: we really can’t stop the process now that we’re so far into it. If we restrict emissions, we restrict the amount of low-skill manufacturing jobs available, which is already a major issue in the structural unemployment crisis we’re facing: we need more training to put people in high skill jobs, but the cost of that training far surpasses the amount the US government is willing or able to spend. The protocol is too conservative to make a change, except in our economic reality.”  Mike makes unabashed eye contact with Harvey, and his recitation of facts is bored, almost clinical, as if he’s reading from a book and he’s not particularly impressed with the book.

“And, honestly, climate change is a reasonable and natural thing. If our descendants don’t grow up with polar bears, why the fuck should we care? I didn’t grow up with dinosaurs. And how many of us have really experienced the majesty of a polar bear in the wild anyway?” His eyes twinkle, and the freshman laugh, quieting down quickly when Harvey doesn’t.

“And the flexibility measures?” Harvey asks.

“Uh, the flexibility measures would be a cute way of making the protocol more workable, but I don’t know if the treaty is worth working out. In a perfect world with a perfect protocol, I would say we should ratify the protocol unequivocally. But there’s no use working out the kinks in a plan that is probably kinkier than Louis Litt on a good night.”

Harvey cracks a smile. “Don’t acquiesce to your opponent by suggesting you don’t know something.”

“You’re hardly my opponent.”

“You’re right. I’m your new debate partner. All of you, get out. We’ll have a formal meeting next Wednesday. First tournaments are in September. Your resolution that is allowing deep water offshore oil drilling is in the best interest of the United States—unless you’re an actor, or an Lincoln-Douglass kid, in which case, I could not give less of a shit and contact Donna or Louis Litt respectively. If you’re PF, come with a partner next week. Someone in this room or someone else, I don’t care. I’ll do a crash course, and most of you will crash and _burn_. Now, please, go home and consider how you’re going to get from here to Nationals.”

Mike moves to grab his bike. “Not you, rookie,” Harvey says.

“Look, I really don’t have time for this my freshman year.”

“Yes, you do. Unless you want someone to know about the pot, you do.”

“Yeah, I really don’t think blackmail is the right way to do this.”

“It’s what I’ve got. I need the best, and you might be a kid, but you’re better than anyone else in that room.”

Mike runs a hand through his hair.

“Buy a suit. Be at my house on Saturday. You get a special crash course.” Harvey turns to leave, clapping Mike on the shoulder.

“Harvey, I can’t do it. Even if I had the time, which I _don’t_ , I don’t have money to road-trip every weekend.”

“Let me worry about that.” Harvey does worry a bit, because this is what he said to Jessica three years ago, and she’d pretty much subsidized all future late-night IHOP jaunts after big wins. But if Harvey can endear himself to the school accounts manager, he just might be able to swing it.

And he has to be able to swing it.

 

Harvey texts Jessica a quick _debate partner found. best damn fourteen year old in the room._ after he’s walked home and stashed the kid’s pot in an empty Pringles can he keeps specifically for the purpose—drugs, not necessarily hiding the drugs of your barely-even-a-teen debate partner.

Jessica texts him back almost immediately: _too bad about the drug problem._

Harvey just replies _it’s okay to just say you’re going to miss me._

 


End file.
